Better The Devil You Know
by LittleBlondeGoth
Summary: A Turk mission that occurs during the course of "No Brakes".
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In the car in front, a man with reflective sunglasses stared out of the tinted window to his left. If a passer-by were to hazard a guess at his age, they would most likely place him in his early thirties. His short brown hair was cut into a fashionable crop and an idle smile played across his lips as he absent-mindedly fiddled with his tie. Combined with the immaculately tailored navy suit he wore, the man looked every inch the successful businessman.

Linden Nelson however, was anything but.

A keen eye might spot the clear, almost invisible headpiece that was nestled inside his left ear, or the microphone pinned to his lapel. An even closer look would reveal that the dark suit covered a multitude of sins, such as a slight rippling where the material flowed over a 9mm handgun in a chest holster, or the two small but powerful grenades strapped to his hip that his jacket didn't quite cover.

Linden Nelson was a Turk.

Just the word 'Turk' was enough to send anyone still in possession of their mental faculties running for cover. Those brave or foolish enough not to take cover probably wouldn't have many faculties remaining to them soon, be they mental or otherwise.

Shinra Electric had a large company of foot soldiers, a general force used for keeping the peace and police work, but most notably there was SOLDIER - a highly trained army graded on three levels, where the best fighters were nurtured. SOLDIER had been a vital part in the company's gradual domination of the world, and where there was fighting to be done, they did it. But what about the other jobs that needed to be done? The not so pleasant ones like surveillance, security, investigation... Assassination?

The current President's father had quickly come to the conclusion that there were some things SOLDIER couldn't do. So he formed the Turks. Put simply, they were the best. The most elite men he could find; skilled, quick-thinking, strong and above all, loyal. Men who wouldn't shirk from going into hostage situations. Who would throw themselves in the line of fire if the Presidents' life was in danger. Men who could kill without question.

When asked, most youngsters dreamed of being a SOLDIER. Rare was the child who wanted to become a Turk.

"Charlie three, this is Charlie two. All clear?" Linden spoke softly into the transmitter attached to his jacket. There was no need to raise his voice, Turks were always equipped with the most up-to-date gadgets and gizmos available and this device was the very latest technology available, straight from the Shinra labs (Linden had always silently maintained the opinion that it was purely because if something went wrong with an operation, the President could blame a man not a machine, and punish him accordingly). 

In the rear vehicle, another blue suited man was watching the first of the three cars round a bend in the Midgar street when the message came through. Serving in the Turks for a year and a half now, Deacon Jeffers was the most recent addition to the team, recruited when an older member met with an unfortunate accident. That was generally the way it went; Turks didn't have much of a retirement package since none ever lived that long. Osborn's' end came at the hands of a particularly odious man named Mak Xu, and with his demise a vacancy had opened up for a replacement. Deacon had been the man for the job, and he soon forged a close comradeship with Linden. The two men worked well together, complementing each others' abilities.

Lindens' earpiece fizzed into life with a short, sharp hiss of static before his partner's reply filtered through. "Charlie three confirmed, Charlie two" replied Deacons' voice.

"Fantastic" grinned Linden. "So can we drop all this Charlie shit now?" 

The 'Charlie' identification system was designed by the leader of the Turks to fool anyone who might have gained access to their radio frequencies. Instead of calling objects, places and people by their normal names, they were given references instead. In this case, the Presidential car was coded Charlie one and the two escorts Charlie two and three respectively. However, Lindens rebellious nature still bucked against the idea, as ironically it made them sound like (in his own words) "a right lot of Charlies".

"No." A commanding third voice crackled over the airwaves. "Rules exist for a reason, Charlie two." There was a most definite emphasis on those last two words, which didn't go un-noticed by the listeners and effectively silenced any complaints. 

The single man capable of having such a drastic effect on the two Turks was their leader, Vincent Valentine. A tall, wiry man, easily topping the six foot mark, his was a formidable presence, even for one of their notorious group. He was also surprisingly young to hold such an auspicious rank; at just past twenty five years of age, only Linden was younger, and that was only by a few months.

Vincent sat in the back of the middle car, next to the President. The front passenger seat was occupied by the fourth and final Turk Preston Drake, whilst the driver was handpicked from the SOLDIER contingent. As far as Shinra's personal security was concerned, the buck stopped with Vincent. No matter who took on the role of bodyguard, if anything untoward should happen, it was the leader who would suffer the consequences. Whenever possible, Vincent took the charge upon himself.

A Presidential trip like this one had to be planned in meticulous detail. Shinra had ridden roughshod over a lot of people to make himself the global power he was today, and that meant he'd also left a lot of enemies behind him. Enemies who wouldn't be too unhappy to see a bullet put through his eyes. It was the Turks (and therefore Vincent's) job to ensure that never happened.

As the cavalcade neared an intersection, the first car pulled off to block the oncoming traffic. The two trailing vehicles continued on their way and once past, the rear car smoothly overtook the Presidential carrier to take the lead. Satisfied that any potential incidents had been avoided, the third car moved away from its station as a roadblock and took up position at the back.

He may not have particularly liked the man, but Vincent took his job of protecting the President very seriously indeed.

He perched an elbow on the miniscule window edge and rested his chin in the palm of his hand to look at the scenery whizzing past. Unfortunately, the movement meant that one of his perfectly polished revolvers now dug into his side, and he shifted again. Usually he preferred to wear his guns in hip holsters for a faster draw, but sitting in the car neccessitated strapping them to his chest. Experience had taught that it was more difficult to draw a pistol whilst seated, and he now insisted on the practice for all the Turks. In addition to those, each man was equipped with a variety of weaponry to cover all circumstances. 

In all honesty, Vincent had to admit that hardly anyone would be stupid enough to try and attack the Presidential cars, but he also had no doubt that there were plenty of stupid people in the world he just hadn't got round to killing yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Wutai. 

Even from this distance, the vista was truly stunning. As the Presidential cavalcade neared its final destination, Vincent subtly shifted around so that he could get a better view from the window.

The city was the hub of a proud empire, ninja bloodlines running strongly through the ancient resident families. It also housed a wealth of Materia. Wutaians prized the small magical orbs, viewing them as gifts from Leviathan, their God. This hoard of power was the reason Shinra had developed such an interest in the place. Vincent, however, had slightly more personal ties to the area.

Though he was born and raised on the Northern Continent, his mother had been from Wutai. The daughter of one of the city's wealthier merchants, she had met the charming James Valentine whilst he was on a business trip to the region. The two fell in love, eventually marrying and settling in Icicle Village. The resulting son had a striking combination of looks from each - Vincent had the dark hair, almond shaped eyes and slight build of his mother, whilst inheriting his height, strength and pale complexion from his father.

Though they lived far away from the Wutai continent, his mother had always been anxious to keep in touch with her family, and to expose young Vincent to the heritage that came from her side. They had no shortage of money (her husband was a successful weapons manufacturer), and consequently trips to the distant city were reasonably commonplace. Vincent had learned much of the culture and history of Wutai during his visits, being taught rudimentary skills with the language, customs and even fighting styles. He remembered how his mother had protested when the Pagoda Master presented an eight year old Vincent with a scaled down samurai sword, only to be reminded that she had started her training at the age of six. 

Sadly his pleasant memories were always soured by the knowledge that his parents had both died two years later whilst making their way to the island. He had been left behind on that particular occasion, his school unwilling to let him have another holiday in the middle of the term. He could still recall with absolute clarity the way that his teacher had sidled into the classroom and extracted him with a look of abject pity on her face.

He hadn't returned to the country for many years after that. Living with a friend of the family, he finished his schooling and moved to Junon to attend University. He only had cause to go there now he had joined the ranks of the Turks. Even then, Shinra's interest in Wutai was a fairly recent development. Since it had arisen, Vincent had made two trips here, both short and as inconspicuous as he could possibly be. This time would be different.

As the gates to the beautiful city loomed into view, he began to wonder if he would recognise any of the elders he was going to have to meet. Or if they would recognise him. Was his mother's family still here? It had been about fifteen years, he was sure he bore little resemblance to the ten year old boy they used to know.

It appeared that the President had also noticed their proximity to the city perimeter. "Almost there, Vincent my boy" he commented. The leader of the Turks almost winced. He hated being called that. Shinra had bestowed the moniker upon him thanks to being the youngest Turk to ever make his rank. It didn't help that the President was probably old enough to be his father, either. The only good thing was that he never uttered the word in front of anyone else. Vincent sometimes wondered if it was supposed to be some kind of private joke…

Thankfully, he managed to keep his mild annoyance in check. "Yes sir" he replied. "We'll take you straight to the Lord's house so you can get things underway."

"What's the name of this Lord chap again?" Shinra had a definite blind spot for foreign names. Vincent rolled his eyes. He'd already reminded the President at least four times today.

"Kisaragi."

- - -

Once the cars had pulled to a halt outside the ruler's house, Vincent was the first to get out. He pulled open the front passenger door, and ordered Preston to replace him in the back, next to the President. The subordinate Turk complied without question - another standard procedure.

Satisfied that Shinra was adequately protected, Vincent started off to the house, unsurprised to see that it looked just as he remembered it. One thing his mother had always told him about Wutai - it didn't like change. He doubted whether Shinra's proposal would go down well in that respect.

He was greeted by two guards dressed in armour. Though the trappings looked awkwardly ceremonial, he guessed that should push come to shove, the pair would have little trouble in a fight. Not that he had any doubt he could defeat them. He'd already located a chink in the armour, a spot where a well placed bullet would be fatal. It was more curiosity. He liked to know what he and his Turks could potentially be dealing with.

"President Shinra is here to meet Lord Kisaragi" he said crisply. 

The first of the armoured men regarded him coldly. "And who are you?"

"I am his bodyguard." Vincent saw no need to elaborate further. He also didn't want to attract any unwanted attention by revealing his identity just yet. The second man attempted to garner more information by asking his name, but the Turk simply said nothing, just held their gaze with a self assurance that brooked no argument. 

"You are expected." Grudgingly they had to admit he had a right to be here. "Where is your President?" The way the pronounced the word showed that they held Presidents in very low regard indeed, compared to their beloved Lord.

Vincent inclined his head in the direction of the car. "He is waiting in the car" he explained. "I wish to inspect his quarters and the meeting room first." This request was greeted by incredulous gasps from the guardsmen. 

"You want to what?!" Vincent, with his knowledge of Wutaian custom, could understand their reaction. By asking to check their lodgings, he had in effect insulted the hospitality (and therefore honour) of their host. And the people of Wutai put great store in their honour.

He knew it would not be a good idea to let them think he meant the words as an insult. "I intend no disrespect towards Lord Kisaragi" he said smoothly. "However, as the President's personal bodyguard I must take every precaution to ensure his continued well-being. I'm sure that you understand my position." A clever ploy, appearing honour-bound. There wasn't much they could do to argue the point, and albeit reluctantly, they opened the ornate doors for him to enter.

- - -

Half an hour later, Vincent emerged. Pleased with the accommodations provided and certain that there were no bugs, listening devices or traps set in any of the rooms, he was now able to fetch the President. 

Ushering Linden and Preston out of the cars first, the three formed a protective triangle round the President as he climbed out. Their sharp ears caught a few choice words of complaint about being kept waiting for so long, but nothing they couldn't cope with. The words would have been far worse had one of the locals tried to take a pot shot at him.

The group made their way to the house, Vincent close to the Shinra's side and the other three keeping the triangle around him. The idea of the formation meant that all sides were covered from potential attack; Linden, Deacon and Preston could return fire whilst Vincent shielded the President.

Since this was the official visit, rather than Vincent's reconnaissance, the guards let them through without complaint, guiding them into the traditional Wutaian building.

Lord Kisaragi was waiting to greet them in the entrance hall. He was flanked by more ceremonial guards, each armed to the teeth with swords and shuriken. To his right, a few steps behind, stood another man. He seemed like a younger version of the Lord, about Vincent's age. The Turk vaguely recalled a Kisaragi son, but it was so long ago the memory was fuzzy.

His entourage was huge compared to Shinra's. Four Turks and the President himself were vastly outnumbered by Wutaian warriors, and Turks did not wear their weapons openly. 

Vincent was not worried though, for all their lack of numbers. He reasoned that the ninja might find it disarming, leading to underestimation. He also knew that four highly trained Turks were capable of dispatching everything that Kisaragi could throw at them, by fair means or foul.

The Lord stepped forward, his movements graceful even for one of his age. It was obviously apparent that in his youth he had been a fighter of not inconsiderable skill. "Greetings President Shinra" he intoned formally, bowing. "Welcome to Wutai. We hope your stay is enjoyable."

From his position just behind the President, Vincent returned the bow, gesturing for the Turks to follow suit. This trip was going to be difficult enough as it was, he didn't want anyone antagonising the hosts. He hoped that Shinra would comply too, but he wasn't in a position to kick him in the shins if he failed. Luckily for all, President Shinra offered a meagre bow in reply.

Kisaragi gestured to the man at his shoulder. "My son" he announced. "I am pleased to present Godo Kisaragi, heir to the throne of Wutai." The young man moved a few paces forward to be in line with his father and bowed. Again, the Shinra party returned it. Vincent used the opportunity to size up the young man, who looked anything but pleased to be there. The firm set of his jaw showed evident distain for the guests. He suspected that Godo might prove problematic, and resolved to keep an eye on him.

Another round of bowing followed as Kisaragi introduced the armed guard as his personal retinue. Contrary to the lengthy process for the natives, Shinra's speech was short and to the point.

"President Shinra. These are my Turks." The four men inclined their heads as they came under scrutiny from the assembled warriors. Wutai was possibly the only place in the world where the reputation of the Turks counted for nothing. The way that the ninja regarded them showed they would have to prove themselves to gain respect here.

Lord Kisaragi smiled. "A man of few words I see" he remarked. "Very well, I will have you shown to your quarters, and then we can begin."  



	3. Chapter 3

Linden looked down at the bed in front of him warily. Like all Wutaian sleeping apparatus, it was very low to the ground and looked uncomfortably hard. Gingerly he sat down on it, only to discover it wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd imagined. It was worse. 

"Jeez, what the hell is this thing, some kind of torture device?"

From his position by the window, Vincent rasied an eyebrow. "It's traditional" he explained patiently. "Wutaian warriors do not regard comfort as a priority. They see soft bedding as a sign of weakness."

A snort showed what the junior Turk thought of that idea. "Hah!" he exclaimed. "Stuff that shit, I want something decent. With two, no make it three, pillows."

Deacon and Peston regarded their own beds with reluctance. "I've only been away from Midgar for a day" said Preston, "and already I wish I was back there."

"Never thought I'd feel this way about that shithole, but I hear ya buddy." Linden was doing his best to make himself comfortable and not having much in the way of luck. 

Vincent moved away from the window and walked over to the fourth bed. The Wutaians had for some reason packed all four Turks into one room. There was enough space (just), but it did make for slightly more intimate living arrangements than they expected. He lay down on the pallet without complaint, stretching himself out as far as he could. He noticed that he had grown considerably since the last time he'd slept on one of these - his feet now hung off the edge. Damn.

"So" he said at length. "What did you think?"

The three other Turks all looked at each other. Deacon was the first to speak. "Very… formal" he said carefully. "It all seems too choreographed to me."

"Don't beat around the bush" Linden interrupted. "They all act like they've got sticks jammed up their arses."

Vincent couldn't surpress his smile. He had to admit that in spite of his crude way of putting it, Linden was absolutely correct. Wutaians were strictly locked in the formalities of years gone by, constrained by ritual. He didn't think they had always been this way, but after centuries of practicing the same customs, it had become so ingrained in them they knew no other way.

"Anything else?" he asked.

Preston curled his lip. "That Lord's got a lot more security than we bargained for" he pointed out. "I counted at least twenty of those guards in that hallway. Visible katana obviously. But I'd stake a hundred gil that they've got more weapons stashed away inside those fancy uniforms."

"I'm surprised they can even move in those, let alone fight." Deacon sounded skeptical, and was surprised when Linden shook his head.

"That's what you're meant to think" he said. "They look heavy and awkward so as to put you off - you won't think they're much of a threat. But the way they're made is like the karate outfits, there's splits and stuff so they can move." He suddenly seemed to notice that all eyes were on him, and they were wearing disbelieving expressions. "Whaaaat?"

"You were looking at how those dresses were made?"

"No!" Linden immediately leapt on the defensive. "It was obvious!"

From his bed, Vincent tried hard not to snigger. He'd learned early on about the value of getting the Turks together like this. Each had their own particular way of looking at the world, and sometimes noticed things that the others missed. By bouncing ideas off one another, he was almost certain to cover every possible angle. On occasion, it also provided him with endless hours of amusement.

He decided to interject here, before an argument could develop. "Kisaragi does have a lot of men" he agreed, "but I don't think they're the threat."

Preston shook his head. "Twenty armed ninja aren't a threat?"

"They won't attack us unless we provoke them" he reasoned. "They're restricted by their code of honour."

"Whereas we have no such thing."

"Correct." Vincent pushed himself up to a sitting position and faced them. "It's dishonourable for them to attack innocent people. And until we do something to the contrary, we are innocent." At that, all four men laughed. The very idea of the Turks being innocent was something they could all find humourous.

Deacon had been pondering Vincent's words, as was his way, and had noticed something which he now pointed out. "The threat. You said that they weren't the threat. So what is?"

"Bet I can guess" muttered Preston under his breath. Deacon looked on expectantly at his superior.

Vincent smiled once more. "What were your impressions of Kisaragi's son?" he asked.

There was a smirk from Preston's direction. "Bingo."

"You think the guy's trouble?"

The leader of the Turks nodded firmly. "He's definitely not happy that we're here. Whether it's us or Shinra that upsets him, I'm not sure. But something's getting to him."

"Bug up his arse."

Deacon turned to Linden. "What is it with you?" he queried. "Everyone has something up their arse. Sticks, bugs…"

"Moving swiftly on…" Vincent hurriedly diverted the conversation before it could head off on a tangent that he had no wish to go anywhere near. "Preston, I want you to stay close to young Godo. Find out who he associates with, what he does, what goes on in his head. The last thing we need is him to get in the way."

"Consider me his shadow."

"Linden, Deacon, I want you to patrol the house and just keep your ears to the ground. Usual drill. If there's anything happening anywhere, then I want to know about it."

"Gotcha."

"Any questions?" Linden raised his hand. "Yes?"

"Where's the nearest bar?"


	4. Chapter 4

Negotiations were proceeding. Alright, Vincent wouldn't exactly have said they were going well, but they were at least proceeding. 

He stood in the corner of the allotted meeting room, carefully observing. President Shinra and Lord Kisaragi sat round a circular table, thrashing out the terms of the treaty. The table had to be circular - any sides to it might have made one feel that the other was trying to be the superior of the two. They could sit on the floor for all Vincent cared. As long as there was no trouble then he was happy.

Partially happy, anyway. He'd just got cramp in his left leg.

Catching a glimpse of a clock on a nearby mantlepiece, he noted gloomily that he'd been standing in this exact spot for nearly two and a half hours. The leaders showed no signs of adjourning their discussion, and he really began to wish he'd insisted on a chair.

It hadn't been completely boring for him though. His keen ear meant that he'd been able to listen in on most of the conversation, although they were trying to keep their voices low. He gave no outward sign of his eavesdropping, naturally. However he found it useful to gauge how well things ere progressing. After a few days, it became apparent that if no major obstacles had arisen, the party was free to come and go as they wished. On the other hand, if there had been a full scale argument between the pair, Shinras group was shadowed closely by ninja and Vincent found that most inconvenient.

The cramp in his leg was becoming more difficult to ignore. He supposed that he could move around a little, but having stood stock still for all this time it was probably going to be noticed.

It therefore came as an intense relief when the voice of Linden crackled into life over his earpiece.

"Boss? Come in boss."

Immediately Vincent moved as far away from the Lord and President as he could, savouring the feeling of his leg coming back to life. "I read you Linden, what have you got for me?"

"Turtles Paradise" replied the Turk. "Soon as you can."

Vincent scanned the room. It meant leaving the pair technically unguarded, but he had no doubt that several ninja were watching the room from hidden vantage points. He judged it to be safe for the time being, at least until he could sent another Turk to replace him.

Making as little noise as possible, he exited the room and began to head to Wutai's most famous restaurant.

He hadn't got far down the corridor when an angry voice from behind made him come to a dead halt.

"I demand to know why I am being followed!"

Vincent neatly folded his arms across his chest as he turned to regard the man now in front of him. "I'm sorry?" he asked politely.

Dressed in full armour and obviously armed, Godo Kisaragi did not look pleased. "You know very well what I mean" he snapped. "You've set one of your lackeys to trail me day and night! I go to the Pagoda to train - he's there. I go to Turtle's Paradise - he's there! I go to Da Chao - he's there too!" Vincent raised an eyebrow at the tirade, but didn't get much of a chance to reply. "In fact" continued the Wutai prince, "I would be willing to bet you a thousand gil that if I turned round right now, he'd be hiding behind me!"

The leader of the Turks assumed a stance of studied indifference, trying not to notice the creeping form of Preston sneaking out from behind a large potted plant. "I assure you Master Kisaragi" he said casually as Preston scrurried away down the hall, "that no-one is being followed, as you suggest."

"I do not believe you." Godo's hand dropped to rest easily on the sword belted at his hip. The Turk could see that the young man was trying to bait him, and remained calm. After all he reasoned, at least one of them had to, and there was no way Kisaragi was going to get a grip on reality any time soon.

"Believe me or not as you please." Vincent's reply was apathy personified, something which seemed to enrage Godo even more. "I have more important things to do than pander to your paranoia." And with that parting barb, he turned on his heel and carried on the way he had been going, effectively silencing the Wutaian.

Godo stood there fuming for a few moments, before spinning round quickly, as if hoping to catch something happening behind him. Seeing nothing, he stalked along the hall, swiping at foliage with his sword.

- - -

Shortly afterward, Vincent tracked down Preston skulking near their room. He sent a quick message to Linden that he would be a little later than planned, then ushered the man into their accomodation area and shut the door firmly behind them. "I've just had a most interesting little chat with Godo Kisaragi" he said. "Seems to think you're following him."

Preston smirked and pulled a face. "That's because I am. Well done Captain Obvious."

His superior sighed. "Yes, but he's not supposed to bloody well know you're doing it!" he remonstrated, massaging his temple. 

"It's not easy!" protested the other Turk. Vincent paused in his ministrations to shoot him a definite glare. "Well it isn't!" Preston stuck his hands in his pockets. "Aside from the fact that we stick out a mile here what with the blue suits, normal eyes and all, it turns out that Mister Kisaragi has some kind of spying ring of his own going on round here."

Vincent gestured to a chair in the corner, which Preston promptly took. The leader of the Turks perched himself on a nearby table and leaned forward. "I'm all ears. Start from the beginning" he ordered.

"Right." Preston settled back in the seat. "We know the Lord of Wutai doesn't really approve of Shinra's plans, but it's generally accepted that the old man will cave in to us eventually. Godo doesn't want that. He's outspoken on a lot of things and one of those is the future of the city. He doesn't want us here, doesn't want anything to do with Shinra at all and thinks we're the scum of the earth."

Vincent quirked a sardonic smile. "Not an entirely inaccurate observation" he pointed out, "but continue."

"Basically he's out to get rid of us any way he can" said Preston. "As far as he's concerned, anything goes as long as we're out of here as soon as humanly possible, taking our President with us."

"That would explain his outburst in the corridor, at least." Preston looked quizzical. "He tried to threaten me" explained Vincent. "He was hoping to provoke a fight. If I'd risen to the insult, he'd have had an excuse to throw the weight of the ninja on us and kick us out."

"Good job you're the Ice Man then" chuckled Preston. "Otherwise we'd be laughing the other side of or faces."

Vincent smiled dryly. "Anyway. Tell me about these spies you mentioned."

"Yes… It seems that our friend Godo is not alone in his thinking - he's amassed a lot of support within both the city and the army. In effect, he's used them to set up a spy network. They watch his back, keep an eye on the Lord's men and it would appear, us." He frowned. "It's getting so I can't tell who's who anymore. Everyone seems to be spying on someone else, and it's impossible to work out which side they're on."

He watched Vincent digest all this information. The leader of the Turks' brow furrowed in thought as he took in the new developments. Eventually he looked up and prounced his judgement.

"Bugger."

- - -

Linden and Deacon sat in the tranquility of the Turtles Paradise restaurant on the west side of the city. They occupied a small table in the far corner, as out of the way as possible. Clothed still in their uniform suits, they stuck out a mile under normal circumstances (as Preston had discovered), so decided that it was best to keep to the shadows.

"So why are we here again?" Deacon toyed with his glass, giving the room another once over. Linden threw back his head and tipped over half of his drink down his throat. 

"We're keeping our eyes open" he said meaningfully. "Vincent said to find out what was going on in this city, and everyone knows that the best place to pick up gossip is in the local drinkerie." He regarded his nearly empty glass pointedly. "Speaking of which, whose round is it?"

Deacon folded his arms. "Yours. Most definitely, yours."

"Figures." Linden looked at the glasses, trying to work out what Deacon had bought previously. "What's this stuff again?"

"Sake."

"Sake? What the hell kind of a name is that?" He chugged the rest of the drink greedily.

Deacon rolled his eyes. "Wutaian, dumbass. It's their tradional rice wine." He was immediately forced to turn away as Linden spat out the beverage, covering the table and his partner in the process. "Hey!"

The other Turk pulled a disgusted face. "Wine? Rice?!?" Linden looked aghast. "You're telling me that I've been sitting here drinking fucking vegetables?!?"

"Rice isn't a vegetable."

"I don't care!" Linden slammed his glass down on the table, causing some of the nearest patrons to turn and regard him oddly. "Rice? That's healthy! No-one ever told me that this shit was good for you! Bring me beer!"

"I thought you two were supposed to be inconspicuous."

Linden's tirade was interrupted by the arrival of a very stern looking Vincent. 

"Ah, yes… About that…"

Vincent held up a hand to forestall any excuses. "Not now" he said. "We have a problem."

Deacon nodded in agreement. "We do indeed" he said. "That's why we called you over here."

The leader of the Turks pulled up a spare chair and seated himself at the table. "Who wants to go first?"


	5. Chapter 5

"You see that man over there, by the bar?" Linden tipped a slight nod towards a tall, lean Wutaian soldier purchasing a drink. "That's Sasuke, he's one of Lord Kisaragi's personal guardsmen." The man finished his transaction, then settled down at a table with another figure, this one darkly clad. "And you see the guy he's having a bevvy with? That's one of Godo Kisaragi's guardsmen." 

"But Godo doesn't have guardsmen" interrupted Deacon. "At least not official ones."

Vincent scowled. "This would be the young man's little spy network" he surmised. Both his Turks looked taken aback.

"You already know?" 

"Preston just informed me" he answered. The three men scrutinised the drinking pair carefully, watching as the dark one passed a small bag over to the soldier. "So what we have here is not only a man secretly in the pay of Godo Kisaragi, but a traitor in the ranks of the Lord's men."

Linden nodded. "It's a right mixed up kettle of fish and no mistake" he commented dryly. "We've spotted a lot of these things happening over the past few days. The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

Vincent pondered for a moment. "Nothing" he decided. "Internal Wutai politics are not in our remit and none of our business." He held up a hand, seeing that Linden was about to protest. "As long as they don't interfere with our mission here, then we do nothing."

"And if they do interfere?"

The leader of the Turks shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it as it needs to be dealt with. Till then keep an eye out, but for Odin's sake don't act on anything unless I tell you."

Deacon acknowledged the order with a sharp nod. "And Godo?"

"Godo…" Vincent frowned. "I trust him about as far as I can throw him, and he's out to make trouble, but we can't afford to give him what he wants." He pushed himself up from the table. "Now I don't know about the rest of you, but I've had just about enough of this for the time being. I'm going to take a walk."

- - -

The streets of Wutai were very much how he remembered them. Narrow and busy, shops and stall holders littered the area, peddling their goods. There were a great many soldiers around too, not obviously so, but his keen eye spotted them lurking in the shadows. Under the circumstances, he couldn't tell if this was a normal occurrence or whether Kisaragi was trailing their movements. He meandered through the city for a while before his peace was disturbed by a voice.

"Vincent? Vincent Valentine?"

It was with a feeling bordering on dread that he turned round. This was the particular moment he'd been hoping to avoid, though all things considered he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

"It is you! I thought, but I wasn't sure…" The speaker was an old man, well into what Vincent guessed to be his seventies. He was dressed in the ceremonial robes of a Pagoda Master, though they appeared to be a little moth-eaten round the edges. The man's eyes, though outwardly friendly, retained the sharpness found in those half his age. It had been close to fifteen years, but Vincent recognised him. 

The Turk folded his hands neatly infront of him and bowed formally. "Gorki-san" he intoned with respect. 

The Master's face crinkled into a pleased smile. "So" he said, "you do remember me. And your manners." 

Vincent tried to return the smile as sincerely as he could. He did indeed remember Gorki, one of the great Masters of the Pagoda. Even though a large part of him was itching to get away, he had been brought up to treat the Masters with something verging on reverence. It was said that they possessed great power, gifted to them by the God Leviathan, whereby they could take on other, stronger forms during battle. He'd never witnessed this personally (though when he was a child he'd found the idea most amusing), but his mother had been adamant. "Are you surprised?" he asked politely.

Gorki shook his head slowly. "No… and yes." The smile on his face dissipated, replaced by a look of consternation. "It has indeed been a long time since you were here but your mother taught you well, may Leviathan bless her soul." He looked Vincent up and down, taking in every detail. "But I am surprised to see you here with…" The Master trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. 

It didn't take too much deduction on Vincent's part to tell that the words 'the enemy' had been left unspoken. He witheld a sigh, knowing where this would inevitably lead. "It's my job" he explained, noticing the disappointment engraved on Gorki's face. "I protect the President."

"But that's not all, is it?" Gorki shook his head again, turning away slightly to look round at the city. Vincent's jaw tightened slightly, but he spoke no word. He didn't need to. "I know about… What do you call yourselves? Turks? Yes, I may be an old man but I know what Turks do." His gaze dropped to the ground. "I am greatly saddened by this knowledge I possess."

Vincent could only repeat his words, hollow though they seemed. "It's my job."

"You know of course that Shinra plans to destroy us? Crush us under the heel of his boot, strip away our heritage and our magic?" Gorki locked gazes with the Turk, relentlessly bombarding him with truth. "He does not want peace, he wants war! No allies, only conquest!" He did not shout his words, simply spoke his heart. "You would let him erase thousands of years of history, a city that has withstood countless threats over the centuries? You wish to see that happen?" 

Truly, Vincent did not, but he bore the verbal beating stoically. That's the way it works now, Gorki, he thought sadly. It's not like the days gone by anymore, the days you remember so fondly. We do what we have to do. I do what I have to do. A bitter smirk flashed across his face. What choice do I have? Even from the beginning it was join or be killed, kill or be killed…

"There is nothing I can do" he said softly. "I am sorry."

Gorki's eyes closed in weariness. "So am I" he murmured."So am I."

- - -

Night was falling, and the city of Wutai lay cast in ever-lengthening shadows. From the Turks' room in Godo's palace, Vincent gazed out of the window at the looming presence of Da Chao, the great mountain that dominated the skyline. Behind him, Linden had collapsed on his bed and was now snoring contentedly.

Doing his utmost to ignore the noise, he sighed as he looked upon the darkening metropolis, so different from Midgar in just about every way. 

His conversation with the Pagoda Master today had rattled him more than he was willing to admit. He did indeed know Shinra's true intentions. The President didn't just want Materia, he wanted to build a massive reactor here, drawing out the vast reserves of natural Mako that Wutai harboured. The inhabitants and culture he didn't care about, as long as there were servile people able to work the machinery.

Vincent could understand Gorki's objections all too well. In spite of his affiliation with Shinra, he didn't always agree with the way the company handled matters. It made him wonder if there was anything he could do to change it; dangerous thinking for a Turk and he knew it. He found himself idly hoping that Shinra and Kisaragi could come to an arrangement where both parties were satisfied and Wutai did not end up as Gorki had predicted.

He snorted, and turned away from the window. Preposterous. It was not his place to question nor to criticise. Doing so would only result in his untimely demise. With a knack perfected from years of discipline and training, he parceled up his misgivings and stuck them away in the back of his mind. He'd done this so many times before it was almost second nature now. That fact in itself ought to worry him, but any concern was tightly locked away with the thousand and one other things he simply did not want to think about. A Turk could not afford any distractions.

With Deacon and Preston out on night patrol and Linden doing a more than passable impression of a chainsaw, Vincent sat down on his own pallet and began to meticulously clean his guns. It was something of a nervous habit he'd picked up over the years, an activity to help keep his hands and mind busy when there were other matters he didn't want intruding upon his thoughts. Dissecting the weapons smoothly and efficiently, he set about the task with a will.

"Mmpf… Not now, your husband'll be home soon…"

Vincent's eyebrows shot up as Linden muttered in his sleep, but didn't stop working on his revolvers. "You're a dirty man, Linden Nelson" he said to the prone form.

He must have dozed off himself shortly afterward, since when he awoke it was pitch black both outside and in the room. Linden's snoring had thankfully abated (a fact for which Vincent was profoundly grateful) and the place was silent.

No, wait. His brow furrowed and he strained his ears. There… Something very faint. Carefully he adjusted his position to look as if he was still asleep, but in actual fact brought his hands in closer proximity to his weapons. His eyes darted this way and that, searching for the source of the noise. He was well aware that it was probably nothing, but heightened senses had kept him alive for all these years and he had every intention of staying that way.

Nothing.

Just his imagination then, he rationalised. Wouldn't be the first time and wouldn't be the last by any stretch of the imagination. He was just about to get up and change out of his suit, when he heard it again. And this time, he definitely wasn't imagining it.

Now wide awake, Vincent concentrated all his senses on pinpointing where the sound was emanating from. Closing his eyes, he found it easier to orient the direction - the door. Someone was out there, and taking great pains not to be heard. He could eliminate Deacon and Preston for starters, they wouldn't be pussyfooting around, they'd have just come straight in.

His eye was suddenly drawn to a flickering outside and he scooted his head round to try and get a better look. 

A jet black shape dropped down the side of the glass, quick as a flash, nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness. A shadow within a shadow. 

Feeling his heart rate start to increase, Vincent forced himself to remain calm as the adrenaline kicked in. It could be innocent, it could be innocent… He repeated the phrase over and over in his head like a mantra.

A second black figure crept past the window edge, only this one stopped before disappearing from view. It reached to one side, pulled out something, then returned it's attention to the pane of glass.

It was the work of a minute, and the window swung open silently. Everything went still. Vincent also noticed that the noise outside the door had grown suddenly quiet. He breathed a curse. Linden was still out for the count and there was no way he could alert the sleeping man without giving away to the intruders that he was awake himself. His hand twitched, itching to grasp the gun that lay so tantalisingly close.

The need to hold some kind of weapon magnified tenfold as two stealthy men dropped though the open window to land in crouches on the floor. Hooding his eyes, Vincent was able to get a relatively unimpaired look at them, for what little good it did. The two ninja (he could tell now what they were) were clothed head to toe in black, only their eyes broke through the garments. Each had a short katana strapped to his side and shuriken within easy reach.

No-one entered via the door, although Vincent was positive that someone was out there. Backup, he reasoned quickly. Closing his eyes lightly, he feigned sleep to the best of his ability, keeping his breathing steady and regulated. He had to determine their intentions. Thieves? Assassins? Too little information and not enough time.

The ninja slowly stood up, blending back into the shadows as they moved, not making a sound. Vincent had to admit to a grudging respect, they were well trained in the creeping around department. Not so hot elsewhere though, as he heard them conduct a whispered conversation.

"Which one?"

"Both. The tall one first."

Oh great. 'The tall one' could only mean him as Linden was a good deal shorter than he was. And this didn't look like a social call at all. Just dandy.

The two men slid their katana out of their sheaths, and Vincent knew he was going to have to move fast.

Grasping his gun firmly in his right hand, he intercepted the falling sword arm with his left, before landing a solid punch in the gut of his wouldbe killer with the butt of the revolver. Jumping agilely off the bed he fired two shots at the leg of the other one of his attackers, who had recovered quickly from the surprise of seeing their target leap into life and was even now making a move to continue his mission.

The sound of gunfire had woken Linden - thankfully Vincent had trained him well enough that he always had a weapon under his pillow in case of emergencies such as this. The Turk looked slightly bleary eyed and worse for wear, but squeezed off a shot nonetheless. One of the ninja staggered back, an oozing wound opened up in his shoulder.

Unfortunately, Linden wasn't the only one disturbed by the weapon discharge. The assassins backup arrived swiftly, rushing through the door swords waving furiously. Immediately he went for the closer and most dangerous target available to him. Namely Vincent. Swords spinning in a dizzying dance, he slashed down at the prone Turk. Vincent, occupied with the other two men, sensed rather than saw the attack coming, and ducked out the way, rolling to one side. Landing in a crouch on the floor, he felt the blade of a sword slice mere inches from the top of his head. 

A rational part of his mind told him that he needed to take these men alive. All three corpses would do was prove that the Turks had killed, and that gave Kisaragi all the leverage he needed to throw Shinra out and declare war, his brain told him coldly. Three prisoners on the other hand, would be a whole different story.

"Don't kill them! Shoot to disable!" Vincent could only hope Linden registered and obeyed his words, Odin alone knew how difficult it was to aim in a fight like this. He hated gunfights in close quarters. It was too messy, too much room for mistakes. 

He noticed Linden had abandoned the gun for the time being, choosing to deal with the man he had shot in the shoulder by using his fists instead. Minus a fighting arm, the ninja was at a disadvantage to the highly trained Shinra operative. 

Vincent lashed out with his leg at the newly arrived backup, causing him to stagger for a second. That second was all he needed to grab his second firearm and send a bullet spinning into the mans knee and another into his sword arm at the elbow. With a shriek of pain, the ninja's sword clattered to the floor as his hand spasmed. Reeling back, he pawed at his wounds with his uninjured hand as the other attacker closed in, intent on finishing off the troublesome Turk.

Sword flashing, the darkly clad ninja advanced. Nimbly twisting forward, Vincent was able to dodge the oncoming attack and parry a followthough with one arm. Angry, the attacker reversed the stroke. The sharp blade sliced through Vincent's suit like a hot knife through butter. He pulled back just in time from having his guts spilled all over the floor, but not enough to stop a nasty cut being carved across his chest. Hissing slightly, he ignored the injury and carried on. He would register the pain later, for now all he cared about was staying alive long enough to do so.

He had to put as much distance between him and the swords as possible. Vaulting up onto the bed behind him, Vincent took the opportunity to dart away, closer to where Linden was fighting off his man. Hard to see in the dark, he aimed his gun at where he thought the mans' gut would be and pulled the trigger. Rewarded with a howl of anguish, he rushed forward, bowling into the already injured man and taking him off his feet. Landing neatly over him, he cracked his fist against the mans' skull, knocking him out for the count. 

Linden had managed to deal with his attacker, who lay sprawled over the floor. He moved forward to help Vincent take the third and final ninja, when something sharp and silver went spinning through the air, cutting into his shoulder and embedding itself in the wall behind him.

"Shit!" 

Shuriken. Just what he needed. He saw another metallic disc whizzing towards him, and dived out the way as it buzzed overhead. It was going to be difficult to take him out at close quarters if he kept firing those little missiles off. That left him with only the gun option. 

A third shuriken sent Linden ducking for cover. Vincent guessed it would take the attacker a couple of seconds to ready the next one, and used those precious few moments to fire his remainder of his clip in the direction they were coming from. The first and third shots missed (though he did manage to take out one of Lord Kisaragi's decorative vases), but the second scored a hit. A sharp clang indicated a shuriken being dropped on the floor, and Linden took the chance to get in close to finish the man off.

The fight itself must have only lasted mere minutes, if that, but to both Turks, it felt like an eternity. Breathing heavily, Vincent moved over to the wall and flipped on the light switch, bathing the room in a bright glow and assaulting his eyes at the same time.

"So boss" panted Linden as he surveyed the three unconscious men surrounding them. "I guess... this means they interfered, right?"


	6. Chapter 6

Vincent watched as Linden dragged the three unconscious ninja into a tidy heap in the centre of the room. Though both Turks were still bleeding, his first priority was to contact the President. If someone had seen fit to set up an attack on two of them, it wasn't a far stretch of the imagination to assume that a similar fate might befall the main member of their group.   
Collecting his PHS, he flipped open the top and dialled. He was mightily relieved to hear Shinra's tirade on the other end, berating him for interrupting his much need sleep. 

His second job was to check on his remaining Turks, to make sure they hadn't had any untoward experiences.

"Come on" he murmered, "pick up…" He was rewarded a few rings later by Preston's voice.

"Boss?"

"Thank Odin for that." The leader of the Turks allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. "Have you two spotted anything out of the ordinary tonight?"

"Like what?"

Vincent cast his gaze to the assassin pile, where it appeared Linden had taken it upon himself to arrange them in amusing poses. He cracked a wry smile. Considering how close they had just come to death, he found himself feeling… flippant. "Like maybe… Attacks by silent armed ninja intent on stabbing you with very sharp swords, that kind of thing?" Remarkably flippant. Must be blood loss.

On the other end of the phone, Preston gave a sharp inhalation of breath. "You guys alright?"

Vincent looked down at his shirt, now mostly stained a delightful red colour. The pain from the wound in his chest was also now beginning to edge its way into his consciousness. Linden, finished with his task of heaping ninja, had collapsed on the nearest bed. He had begun the unenviable task of peeling off his jacket and attending to the gouge in his shoulder. "We'll live" Vincent assured his fellow Turk. "But get back here soon as possible. I don't want anymore of these incidents tonight."

Closing the call, he followed Linden's lead and eased himself onto a bed. Discarding his shirt onto the floor, he inspected the sword wound carved across his chest. He also discovered that he'd caught several more nicks and cuts that he hadn't even registered before.

"Ouch."

Now that the adrenaline of battle was wearing off, the pain of injury put off whilst fighting could be ignored no longer. Turks were trained to be able to do a wide variety of tasks, and in-the-field medication was one of them. Luckily, they also had a trump card.

Materia was in short supply around much of the world, but the Turks had a reasonably comprehensive collection. A mission such as this would not normally require the inclusion of Materia, but unwilling to take unneccassary chances, Vincent had slotted a couple of the crystalline orbs into one of his shotguns under his bed. Unfortunately for him, that meant he had to get up again to retrieve it.

Hauling himself to his feet he trudged over to his bed and knelt down to pick up the gun. As he bent over, he felt a thin trickle of blood ran down his face. Reaching up to follow the trail, he noticed that he hadn't been quite as lucky dodging the katana as he thought he had been. Hurriedly he pulled out the weapon and extracted the small green Materia from its place.

Seating himself on the floor, he used the bed as a brace for his back. Healing with Materia was effective, but draining. Cupping the orb in his hands, he closed his eyes and concentrated. Not exactly an easy task for someone in his condition, but Turk discipline was practically second to none. Focusing only on the Materia, he willed it to heal him, directing the energy inside it to do as he wished.

A soft green glow began to pulse from the object in his hands, growing more noticable with each passing second. The light began to twist and turn, coalescing into a mist. It swirled around the Turk, wrapping him in an intangible cocoon before settling and sinking into his body. He gasped loudly as the curative effect took hold. Using Materia always took something out of the caster, especially healing. And when the injured party was the one commanding the magic, it always seemed to feel ten times worse.

Still, looking own he could see that the gaping slash on his body had finally stopped bleeding and had closed. There would be some scar tissue for a while, but he would be good as new after a while. The smaller cuts and scrapes had been erased with more ease. 

He saw his companion poking ruthlessly at his own injury and relinquished the orb. "Here, catch." He tossed the green Materia across the room, where Linden caught it awkwardly.

"Cheers." Soon enough, an ethereal mist was surrounding the Turk, who also let out an exclamation of shock as the healing took effect. "Damn!" He fell back onto the bed, exhausted. Each person had a different tolerance to Materia - some could use it as easily as breathing, others had to concentrate extremely hard to get even the smallest effect. Vincent considered himself to be about average, whilst Linden was definitely closer to the latter end of the scale.

From his position on the ground, Vincent was able to see the welcoming figures of Deacon and reston approaching down the hallway, as well as the not-so-welcome sight of a number of Kisaragi guards. He presumed that they had been alerted by the sound of the scuffle; it was unlikely that either Turk would have roused them, though he noted that the soldiers hadn't exactly been quick to arrive on the scene.

Thankfully the two jogging Turks were the first to reach the bedroom. They took in all the information available to them. Upon seeing that Vincent and Linden were alright (if a littlw woozy), Preston moved straight to the window, examining it to see how the attackers had gained entry. Deacon padded round to the pile of ninja, peering at each one closely.

The soldiers weren't far behind however, and immediately leapt to a hasty conclusion.

"Murderers!" The man in the lead pointed at the heaped Wutaians in shock and anger. "Rouse Lord Kisaragi!" The guards behind him started to draw their weapons, incensed. Even in his slightly battered state, Vincent was going to stand for none of this.

"Don't be bloody fools!" he snapped at them, causing the front man to step back in surprise. "For a start they're not dead, just knocked out. They'll come to in a little while." Indeed, one of them was already beginning to stir, making faint groaning noises no doubt intensified by a ninja dumped uncerimoniously on top of him. "Secondly, they were the ones who attacked us. Whatever you may think, we don't go around luring armed assassins into our bedrooms for kicks." He reached out his arms and used the bed to pull himself up to standing. The curative effect of the Materia was really beginning to kick in on him now.

"They came in through this" added Preston, leaning out the window slightly. "The hinges have been greased here and here." He pointed to the relevant parts of the frame. "And the other major giveaway is that their grapples are still in place." The soldiers looked uneasy. "Come over here if you don't believe me" said Preston cheerily. "Look, you can see two of the hanging down here, attached from the top of the palace…"

One of the guards received a shove in the back from a comrade, effectively volunteering him for the task. Warily he walked over to where Preston was standing and followed the Turks pointing finger. "He's right" the soldier confirmed. "There are grapples here."

The front man was rapidly becoming familiar to Vincent, and it suddenly hit him where he recognised him from. The bar. Sasuke.

The soldier stubbornly dug his heels in. "They could have planted those" he declared loudly. "Everyone knows Turks have no honour."

What with one thing and another, Vincent had a nagging feeling that this was not going to be his night. The situation was further complicated by a call from Deacon. The Turk had been examining the fallen ninja carefully, peeling off their facemasks, and he gestured towards Vincent to take a look himself. "What do you think boss?" he said, indicating one of the men.

Check that, Vincent thought. Definitely not his night. He knew this man too. It was the second one he had seen in the bar, engaged in 'discussions' with Sasuke. Surely that couldn't be coincidence. He'd been a Turk too long to believe in coincidence any more. It was all beginning to fall horribly into place.

Sasuke wore a slightly worried expression on his face. Evidently things had not panned out how he had expected, and he was unsure of how to deal with them. Seeing the sudden interest the Turks were taking in the ninja, he decided to act quickly.

"We will take these men away and question them" he interjected hurriedly, ordering some men forward. They were immediately stopped by the sudden looming presense of Vincent.

"I don't think so" he said. He could hardly say out loud that he didn't trust them, but the fact remained he wanted no chances taken before the Turks had had a chance to do the interrogating. "Deacon, Preston - have these men escort you and the captives to a secure location, then stay with them. I'll question them in the morning."

Sasuke floundered helplessly. "But… But Lord Kisaragi…"

"Lord Kisaragi can…" Vincent bit his tongue and restrained some of the more violent epithets from passing his lips. "Can speak to me in the morning too. Now get out."


	7. Chapter 7

Not unsurprisingly, Vincent hadn't managed to get much in the way of sleep last night. Assassination attempts tended to have that effect on him - regardless of what others might think, it was his life and truth be told he was rather attached to it. Instead of sleeping, he'd lain awake for hours, his brain refusing to listen to his body's incessant demands for rest. The dark circles that rimmed his eyes were testament to this; consequently he'd opted for his sunglasses this morning, despite having spent most of it in the Kisaragi holding cells where they were hardly needed. No point in showing his prisoners that he was feeling a little under par. 

Lack of sleep also had a remarkable effect on the Turk's patience. It made it disappear completely. After half an hour of interrogation, he'd already had enough of the ninja.

All but one had been easy enough to break down; point of fact, most of the sniveling creeps were almost eager to talk. It was a shame then that none of them actually knew anything even remotely useful. The Turks had all had a go with questioning the would-be assassins (except Preston who was still stuck to young Godo like a leech), but had come up with the same result each time. Zip. The ninja knew the location and appearance of the men they were supposed to kill, but no more. They had also been paid highly for their services, a fact that their employer must now be regretting if Vincent was any judge. As Linden remarked, whoever that man was, he'd been ripped off and no mistake.

Still, he knew he shouldn't have expected more, it was what any sensible person would have done. Hell, it was the way he would have done it, although he liked to think that he could have carried the job out without getting caught. But overall, the less that the mules knew, the less they could spill if they were captured.

However.

There was one of their number that he reckoned knew a lot more about what was going on here. The man they'd recognised from the bar, who'd been handing over the Gil. Vincent would have staked his life (were he not keeping a very close guard on it right now) that he was the one in charge of the merry band and knew the identity of the employer. But typically, in direct contrast to the rest of the cowering shinobi, this one steadfastly refused to so much as open his mouth.

Tied to a crude chair, hands and feet expertly bound, the man had been blindfolded and left for stew for a bit whilst the Turks interrogated the others. A standard warm up technique - the screams, cries for mercy and generally nasty sounds that issued from a mans' comrades had an unnerving habit of entering his brain and pressing the all the buttons marked 'panic'.

No such luck here.

Their mission was further compounded by the news that Lord Kisaragi had issued strict orders that none of the men were to be harmed in any way. Turk methods took many forms, but the majority included some kind of physical element depending on who was carrying out the interrogation and how trigger happy they were feeling at the time.

Vincent would have liked nothing more than to rough up the stubborn ninja a bit and see how he responded to a gun in the groin (one of his favourite tricks - maximum pain with a minimal risk of death). But thanks to Kisaragi, he'd been forced to give his word that he wouldn't, which meant that the smug bastard could sit there with that smirk on his face, safe in the knowledge that the Turks couldn't lay a finger on him.

So they'd reached a kind of stalemate; the prisoner refusing to talk and Vincent refusing to give up. The Turk leader didn't bother to conceal his scowl as he leaned back against the wall. Folding his arms across his chest, he considered the problem in front of him.

Perhaps he was simply coming at this from the wrong angle. He couldn't torture the man, much as he'd like to, and it didn't look as if he was going to be persuaded to talk either. There had to be something he was missing.

As he often did at times like these, he speculated on what his predecessor would have done. Forlan Grisham had been the leader of the Turks for a good many years before meeting his demise. Vincent would have added the word 'untimely' to the phrase, but for a Turk that was practically a given. Rare was the Turk who died peacefully in his sleep. Violently in his sleep, perhaps, but not peacefully. Still, before he passed away he'd been able to impart his vast repository of knowledge to the young Vincent who, desperate to impress, had eagerly filed away everything his new mentor said.

Grisham had been a great one for quotations, and one of them began to spring to mind now - "a chain is only as strong as its weakest link". Vincent could picture the former leader saying the words, and idly tapped a finger against his lips as he pondered the meaning. The prisoner was the strongest link. The rest of the ninja didn't know enough… It was just a matter of finding that weak point in the chain then forcing it to break.

His eyes suddenly widened in realisation as it hit him. How could he have been so blind, he berated himself? That attack last night must have shaken up his wits. Who was working on the inside? Who'd tried to incriminate the Turks in last nights' escapade? And who'd accepted a sizeable bribe from the man seated in front of him? He could have kicked himself; he'd interrogated everyone involved except the weak link.

Sasuke, your time is up.

A sly smile started to spread across his face as he got up from the wall and opened the door to the holding cell. Linden was seated on the floor outside, a cigarette lazily held in his mouth. He certainly looked worse for wear this morning, more so than his superior. Upon seeing Vincent, he hastily scrambled to his feet, stubbing out the cigarette and crushing it under his shoe.

"Boss?"

Vincent closed the door behind him. He didn't want the prisoner to get wind of his plan. "Where's Deacon?" he enquired. Linden jabbed a thumb in the direction of the main building.

"Upstairs" he answered. "There was nothing else for him to do, so he decided to take a walk."

"Well go and find him. I want the two of you to go and bring me Sasuke."

The junior Turk looked taken aback. "The soldier?" He snorted. "I can manage him by myself you know…"

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I know, I just don't want any arguments from the bastard. I also don't want him doing a runner when he finds out that I'd like to talk to him."

"You're going to interrogate him?" Linden's eyes widened in disbelief. "I didn't think we could touch him, Kisaragi didn't give us permission to…" He trailed off as he saw the look on Vincent's face. The raised eyebrow and patient expression told him that Vincent was well aware of this and didn't particularly give a damn. "Okay" he acquiesced, "we'll fetch him. Do we tell him why or leave him in the dark?"

That devious smile began to surface once again. "I think we ought to let him know what we want. Get Deacon to bring his Bible too." Linden nodded and turned to leave. He'd only taken a few steps when Vincent's voice continued, almost as an afterthought. "Oh… And don't be afraid to use whatever means you feel necessary."

"Boss?" The Turk was confused. "Kisaragi said…"

"Kisaragi said that we were not to harm the prisoners in any way" finished Vincent smoothly. "Sasuke is not a prisoner."

Linden threw a mock salute and carried on his way, silently marveling at the twisted way his boss's mind worked sometimes.

- - -

It was half an hour before the duo of Linden and Deacon returned, complete with a trembling Sasuke. The Wutaian soldier looked as if he'd rather be anywhere but where he was that moment, but for some reason seemed to be keeping remarkably quiet about it. The mystery behind his silence was soon revealed though, as Vincent noticed the barrel of Lindens' gun lodged in the small of the mans' back.

"Morning" said the leader of the Turks dryly. "Sleep well?" Sasuke didn't reply, instead he opted to stand there, his eyes warily drawn towards Lindens' ever-present gun digging into his spine. Vincent didn't seem to notice the lack of a response, he hadn't really expected one. He pulled a revolver from it's' holster and began to check it. "Look" he said flatly, flicking off the safety. "I'll level with you here. We can either do this the hard way or we can do it the fatal way. Choose."

"But… But…" Sasuke seemed to find his voice at last. "My Lord said…"

Vincent cut him off with a single glare. "I know precisely what your Lord said" he informed the protesting guard. "And I don't think I have violated any of it. I haven't hurt the prisoners." A fresh magazine snapped into the gun. "Yet. There's still plenty of time." He grimaced. The whole operation hinged on Sasuke believing that Vincent was ready to ignore Kisaragi's dictate, ready to kill.

"I think…"

"I didn't bring you here to think, I brought you here to answer my questions" interrupted the Turk. "Linden, bring him in, there's someone I'd like him to get reacquainted with." He ushered the pair inside the cell, keeping a close eye on Sasuke all the time for any signs of a reaction. He got one.

As soon as the soldier caught a glimpse of the man tied to a chair, his eyes widened. His naturally tanned face, which had been pale to start with thanks to Linden and Deacons' less than gentle ministrations, began to take on a rather unhealthy shade of green. Vincent kept his smug grin firmly in check. The fish had taken the bait, now all he had to do was reel him in.

Linden unceremoniously shoved Kisaragi's guard in the back, whilst Deacon stepped around to the side, watching, his leather bound Bible held tightly in his hands.

"Have you two met?" enquired the Turk cheerily. Sasukes' lips formed the words of a denial, but his body language said otherwise. Vincent raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No..."

By now, the prisoner had realised who had come to pay him a visit, and did not seem at all pleased by the news.

"You're sure you don't know this man? This is the first time you've seen him?"

"Yes…"

"Apart from last night, obviously." Vincent marveled at how easily the guard had walked into that trap. Numerous trails connected these two, as well as several witnesses who'd been drinking in the Turtles' Paradise during the exchange. An outright denial was stupid.

"Yes…"

Vincent pretended to consider the words. "Well, if you're sure you don't know him, then I guess there's nothing more to be said." He leveled his gun at the captives' heart. "You can give him his last rites, Deacon. I guess we're just going to have to kill him."

He pulled the trigger.

Several things happened at once. The prisoner, guessing that his number was well and truly up, attempted to hurl himself to the ground, out of the way. His efforts were hampered by the heavy wooden chair that was attached to him though, so all he managed was a feeble lurch to the left. This meant that the bullet which had been traveling at his heart struck him further across the chest. He let out a cry of pain as the telltale trail of blood oozed from the point of impact, then collapsed, silent. Only his bonds held him upright.

At the same time, Sasuke finally succeeded in freeing himself from Lindens' grasp, forgetting for a split second about the gun pointing at him, and flung himself towards Vincent, yelling. "No! Godo will kill us all!"

The Turk leader smartly sidestepped the gibbering man, letting Linden regain a firm hold on him before reholstering the gun.

"Godo will kill us, will he?" he asked. "Interesting. How do you know that, considering you've never met this man before?"

Sasuke wasn't listening. "He's dead!" he squawked to himself before turning on Vincent. "You killed him! Godo's going to blame me for this, he'll hunt me down…"

"He's that important?"

"Hatsuto is Godo's right hand!" The soldier seemed more concerned with the matter of his own welfare than by the fact he was leaking information like a broken tap.

Vincent shook his head in disbelief. "You know, for one of Kisaragi's' personal bodyguards, you're one hell of a coward" he observed with a derogatory sneer. He walked over to the prisoner in the chair and crouched down. "Come on you" he ordered to the corpse. "Wake up."

"What are you…" Sasuke looked on, his beleaguered brain unable to process what his eyes were seeing. The Turk was sternly patting the dead mans' cheek in an attempt to rouse him. And it was working! A groan issued from the prisoners' mouth confirming his status as alive.

"Tranquiliser bullet" said Vincent by way of explanation. "Filled with red paint and completely harmless." He stood up as the newly revealed Hatsuto slowly regained consciousness. "I think we're just about done here for the time being. Deacon, did you get everything he said?"

The hitherto quiet Turk nodded. He opened up his Bible to reveal a cunningly concealed tape recorder spinning away merrily, capturing every sound the men made. "You mean the bit where he spilled his guts? Yes, got in down no problem."

"Excellent. You can all go now." Vincent turned his back on the guard as he pulled on his pair of fingerless leather gloves. "Oh, and Sasuke…" He clenched his hand, feeling the material mould itself to the curves. "You might want to see someone about that tooth."

A puzzled look replaced the fear on Sasuke's face. "What tooth?" His reply came in the form of a fist, slamming into his mouth, sending blood and an upper incisor flying.

"That one."


End file.
